


I was and I endure

by thenewradical



Category: The Dalemark Quartet - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenewradical/pseuds/thenewradical
Summary: Navis anticipated several problems when he plotted to make Mitt king. Noreth's doppelganger was not one of them.





	I was and I endure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dashi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashi/gifts).



**-Battle of Kernsburgh-**

There were approximately twenty “first things” Navis did after Mitt was crowned, but the first thing he did that involved asking questions instead of giving orders was to pull aside Mitt, Moril, and the girl, and lead them to one of the tents that had been set up to house supplies. They passed Alk, and Navis gestured for him to follow.

There were chairs and a table waiting in the tent (Luthan probably had them set up for meetings; when he wasn’t making calf-eyes at Noreth he was imminently sensible). Navis pulled out three chairs and then told the children “Sit.” He stood across from them, Alk hanging back behind him.

When they hesitated, he snapped “Now, please,” and they all sat at once. Even Mitt, who by all rights could tell Navis that he couldn’t give him orders. Navis wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Will listen to others, good; will be ordered about, bad. A concern for when Mitt had been king for more than twelve hours. At the moment, there were more pressing concerns, namely -

“You,” he pointed at Not-Noreth (something like Manaliabrid, his tired mind supplied). “Explain.”

From the way the three looked at each other, he knew his instincts were right; whatever the girl’s scheme was, Mitt and Moril were in on it too.

Noreth’s death weighed heavily on him, but he had given little thought to the mystery of her replacement. In the moments before she spoke, his mind raced with possibilities. Noreth’s secret twin, or resurrected like the Adon, or a vengeful ghost.

“I’m from the future,” was not what he expected. He heard Alk let out a low whistle behind him, and Navis took a chair of his own to sink into as she continued “And Wend wasn’t a just guide, he was Tanamoril”

“Osfameron” Moril added, as if by habit.

“When I met him, he was working as an assistant at the – at a museum.” She stopped herself from say something, Navis noticed. “He told me that I looked just like Noreth, and that I was supposed to find out what happened to her.”

“Well,” Navis said “Now we know.” She went white, and he knew he should say something about how no one thought she was dangerous, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Especially when he didn’t know if that was true.

“And you two,” he addressed the boys. “When did you find out?”

“Dropthwaite,” Mitt said warily, angling himself closer to her.

“And we know she’s telling the truth,” Moril added. “About being from the future. She told us in Dropthwaite that she knew that someone named Amil would be king.”

Navis watched all their faces: Moril confident in his words, Mitt close to glaring to him, and Not-Noreth clearly about to cry.

“Maewen didn’t know about Noreth being killed,” Mitt said. ( _Maewen_. So that was it.) “We know Hestefan did it now, so she shouldn’t be suspected of anything.”

“And if you do want me arrested for it,” Maewen broke in, her voice shaking but looking determinedly at him, “I’m only thirteen, so you can’t execute me. Yet.”

 _Ammet_ , thirteen. There were times when he thought Noreth acted more like a child, but he thought that it was her nerves. He hadn’t suspected that it was because she was younger than Hildy.

The magnitude of it hit him all at once. She had fooled him. A child younger than his daughter.

“What were you expecting to happen,” he asked her, gliding over the arrest question.

“I thought I would find out what happened to her and go home.” She faltered on the last word. “But I’m here now.”

“And she’s staying,” Mitt added forcefully, Moril nodding emphatically.

“Yes,” Navis agreed slowly, and the three let out a breath of relief. But they weren’t thinking like he was. Maewen may not mean it, but she was a threat. And his father had taught him to keep threats close. “Get some rest,” he told them, and then added to Mitt “especially you.”

They trailed out the tent, and when the flap closed he swore he heard them break into nervous laughter.

Alk came around and sat in Moril’s empty chair. He was silent for a moment and then asked “What are the odds that the North will accept a Southerner as king when a young lady who looks just like Noreth is still around?”

“And what are the odds that Keril and Henda won’t spread that?” Navis added. He rubbed his eyes. “This is a mess.”

“Should be expected, when you go to war behind a child.” Navis cocked an eyebrow at him, and Alk continued “I think this is the best possible outcome, same as you. But it does add complications. Even the Adon was in his thirties when he was king.”

“You do know your history.”

“Seems useful what with Osfameron pulling lookalikes out of the air.” Alk fixed him with a curious look. “Do you believe in the Undying, Navis?”

“Oh yes,” he responded. “But I never rely on them.”

* * *

 

**-One Year After the Battle of Kernsburgh (A.K.)-**

Holand was different, but also the same.

Different, of course, after the Uprising. That edge it had teetered on before was gone, cleansed by revolution. (Someone had tried to sell him on that line, and although he didn’t care for metaphor, it stuck in his head.)

The cleansing had also gotten rid of his brothers. And that was different too; a Holand without family.

Mitt had tried to apologize, awkwardly, when the news about his brothers reached them. Navis struggled to determine if the apology was even necessary. His brothers were awful and many people would argue that they deserved their fates, but they were family all the same.

Navis was grateful that Harchad’s wife (smarter than anyone, including Navis, gave her credit for) got her children and some of the others out the day before the Uprising began. He was sad about his nephews and nieces who had died, but in the abstract way he was sad about every child who died in the Uprising. He had so thoroughly disowned, and been disowned by, his family that it all felt like a tragedy that happened to people he did not know. He wasn’t Earl Hadd’s son anymore; he was a trusted advisor to the King.

“Tell that King Amil he needs to fix the piers!”

And that was the thing about Holand that was the same: Navis couldn’t go anywhere without people yelling at him. At least it was more positive yelling now. A lot of them just wanted him to tell the King hello, and that they remembered Amil when he was a little boy. Some had complaints. And some would just follow him and natter on for what felt like miles.

Navis was still accompanied by guards, like he would have been before the Uprising. The bloodshed hadn’t lasted long, but there were enough people who might want revenge for lost loved ones that he wouldn’t risk going out alone. But he let people come up and talk to him now. It was important to always maintain an open presence, distinguish everyone in the monarchy from the earls. Even if it meant putting up with very annoying people.

“The piers on the southeast side docks have been in awful shape for years,” the woman continued. Navis wasn’t sure, but it felt as though she’d been following him for an hour. “Without bringing ships in, we can’t-”

“I completely understand,” Navis interrupted. “I am on my way to see King Amil and will tell him.” He considered telling her that Mitt worked on one of the fishing boats when he was young – positive: it further endeared Mitt to the people; negative: it wouldn’t make her go away – and decided to settle on “It’s a very important issue to him.”

The woman smiled and for a moment Navis thought she would leave, but she kept following him. “I’m so glad Amil’s the king. The North always turned their noses up at us and said we couldn’t be helped, and look at Amil, born here, freeing everyone from the earls,” she continued and Navis was ready to politely dismiss her when she added “Much better than that Noreth woman. I hear she’s hanging around the new capital?”

Navis slowed and turned to look at the woman. She was younger than he was, but older than Mitt. And if she cared enough about the piers to try to lobby him about it, she was probably sensible.

She was also not the first person to ask about Noreth.

“Noreth unfortunately passed away shortly before the Battle of Kernsburgh,” Navis told her firmly. “King Amil was deeply saddened by the news. Noreth wanted so much for all of Dalemark.”

The woman frowned. “But my sister’s husband has been at Hern’s City and said there was a woman there who looked just like her.”

“Her cousin,” Navis dismissed. “There’s a family resemblance. She’s helping oversee the developments at the capitol.”

They had reached the edges of the city now, and there was a guard waiting with horses. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go meet with the King,” he told the woman. “I will tell him about the piers. And if you would do me a favor, please pass along the news about Noreth’s passing. It would cause her family pain to know people still think she’s alive.”  

Or rather, cause them more pain.

He’d had a letter from Eltruda. He shouldn’t have expected a long correspondence, since he wasn’t verbose in his own. But the brevity still stung.

She wished him well, but she couldn’t continue things. Not while Maewen (“that woman with my niece’s face” had been the exact words) was still in Kernsburgh.

So that was that.

They rode the horses out to the Flate. Mitt had a meeting with some of the Uprising leaders, who refused to meet in Holand. Navis had offered to attend, but Mitt insisted on bringing Alk instead. Navis supposed he understood – bringing the murdered earl’s brother would set a tone, regardless of what side he was on – but he felt anxious being left out.

Mitt and Alk were supposed to be waiting for him near the edge of New Flate – the Uprising leaders refused to tell them where exactly they were located, and while he understood that some paranoia was necessary, that was a little much. Even from a distance, Navis could see Alk, and then the guards and their horses as he got closer, but no Mitt. When he dismounted, Alk pointed out to the tall grass. “He’s over there. Said he needed a minute.”

Navis looked out onto the Flate. The tall grass rippled in the breeze, and suddenly Mitt appeared sitting among the rushes, and then disappeared once more. “Did the meeting go poorly?”

“Took a bit of negotiating, but we got everything we asked for.”

“Good,” Navis responded, eyes still on the grass. “And did he get any information on whether…” he trailed off, not wanting to say it.

Alk knew though. “They said they haven’t seen Hobin’s family. Apparently Hobin said before he died that they disappeared in the Uprising. Think Harchad’s spies did something to them to try to discredit him.”

“Sounds like Harchad,” Navis acknowledged.

“So you believe him?”

“We’ll never know, will we?” He didn’t wait for Alk’s response and started walking over to where Mitt sat.

Mitt was staring out in the direction of the sea, but glanced up when he heard Navis coming. “Do you want to know how the meet went,” he asked, turning back towards the ocean.

“Alk said well,” Navis responded cautiously.

“They liked Alk.” Mitt said. “I still don’t think they trust me, after what happened with Hobin. But Alk knew what to say. I didn’t.”

“You know what to say,” Navis told him. Mitt shrugged, and Navis added “You’ll get better at saying it. It’s only been a year.” Mitt didn’t respond and Navis didn’t push, just waited.

“You found me out here,” Mitt finally said. “When I was a child. It must have been out on Old Flate. You had one of your men bring me back to my house. You probably don’t remember,” he added. Navis didn’t, but he wasn’t surprised by the information. His life with Mitt was a series of unexpected meetings.

“My mother was fascinated by you after that,” Mitt continued. “She knew all about you, and Hildy. She told everyone how kind you were, and she was sad when your wife died.” Navis listened quietly, as though Mitt was describing something that had happened to someone else. “I wonder if she knew it was me who was king,” Mitt asked. “Or just some man named Amil. Maybe it would be different if I were King Alhammit.”

This was not his forte. “The name was important. Amil has no historical ties to the North or South.” And then, awkwardly, he added. “Holand has always known you came from here. She would have too.”

Mitt nodded listlessly. Looking down on him, with that face looking younger than sixteen suddenly, Navis could almost imagine finding him out here when he was a child. Another breeze ripped through the Flate, and he was looking at the king again.

“The rebels will give us the guns,” Mitt said, getting to his feet. Towering over him like that, Navis couldn’t help but think that he had the regal bearing down even if he still struggled with what to say. ~~~~

“What do they want in return?”

“Not to be imprisoned for their part in Hobin’s crimes.”

“And you said?”

“Yes,” Mitt shrugged. “But it’s probably not going to be my decision. Independent council should handle it, so it doesn’t look like I’m favoring anyone.”

“Good,” Navis said. Good. He was learning.

* * *

 

**-Two Years A.K.-**

When lying, choose wisely.

They had two options at the time: pretend Maewen was Noreth, or tell everyone Noreth was dead. There were arguments for both: if they said Noreth was dead, people might think Mitt killed her to become king, a rumor Keril was sure to spread. But if Noreth was dead, there was no one for the opposition to rally around, and Maewen wouldn’t have to pretend to be a dead woman for the rest of her life.

It seemed like the smart choice. Take Noreth out of the picture and take away one of the earls’ weapons.

What Navis had not counted on was so many damn people knowing what Noreth looked like. Or, more likely, people who thought they knew what Noreth looked like, no doubt helped by the earls’ spies. All they had to do was tell people that Noreth was alive and well and living in Kernsburgh, just look for the young woman with curly blonde hair…

He was in Kernsburgh for two weeks, and during that time, he overheard a few conversations people tried to initiate with Maewen. Never anything outright-treasonous, just asking her to remind Amil to look after Kredindale, or Dropwater, and that they knew they could trust her because she had always loved the North, hadn’t she, Noreth?

The few times Navis saw this, Maewen would politely and firmly say that she would be sure to tell the king, but her name was not Noreth. The person would leave, and Navis would wonder if they believed her, or if they thought someone was forcing her to lie.

Navis wondered many things about Maewen, actually. This was the most time he had spent with her since the Green Roads, and he found that she was simultaneously extremely competent and very anxious. Maewen was helping oversee the development of Kernsburgh; usually she could work with builders and artists with ease, but on occasion they would ask a question, and a nervous look would pass over her face and she would excuse herself from the conversation.

Navis had a feeling that she knew exactly what the answer to the question was, but she was scared to say it.

He was certain she was from the future. He had no proof, but if he saw what happened on the Holy Islands, and if he could believe that the Adon had been brought back to life by Osfameron, then Navis could certainly believe the Undying could also pluck a girl from one time and drop her in another.

He no longer thought she was a threat, but he was just as intrigued by her as before. Every loss, every success – he wondered if she knew it was going to happen. It wasn’t that he wanted her to tell him if they would win; the earls were winding down their resistance, he was sure it would be over in less than a year. But he had to wonder how much she knew, especially after spending so much time with her and seeing how often she had to stop herself from speaking. How would she react if he asked her something outright about the future?

He was eating with Ynen that night, like every night he was in Kernsburgh, and he invited Maewen to join them. The meal was dominated by Ynen; like Hildy, he had refused to move to the Holy Islands for the war. And like Hildy, about to finish at the Law School, he appeared to be better for it. He spent most of his days with Alk’s engineers and would then tell Navis about it in the evening, looking more animated than Navis had ever seen.

“He’s like this every day,” Maewen whispered to him. “I think Alk could power his trains with Ynen’s enthusiasm.” Throughout the meal she had happily contributed to the conversation when it turned to city planning, and then conspicuously gone silent on other topics.

If Ynen noticed, he didn’t let on. The conversation had moved to roads and what could ride on them, a topic that was apparently much more complex than Navis had realized. “The real issue is that we still don’t have a reliable mode of transportation within the city, but I think that if we - Oh! I forgot to show you the best thing I worked on today! It’s a prototype steam engine that could be used to power carts! I left it in the workshop, let me go get it.” Ynen leapt out of his chair and then out of the tent, leaving Navis and Maewen in his wake.

Navis let the silence fall over them for a moment before asking “Trains?” Maewen looked at him blankly. “You said something about trains. Did you mean Alk’s Irons?”

A look of panic passed over her face and then was gone. “Of course. I’m sorry for the confusion.”

“You’re usually good at stopping yourself,” Navis continued. “Before you say something from your time. I assume you don’t want to give anything away.”

“I try to be careful.” She looked at him warily.

“Do you ever wonder what would happen if you did speak more freely?” he asked lightly.

Maewen bristled. “Is this when you finally ask me about the future? Who wins which battles? I’m surprised it took you two years.”

He should have felt insulted that she had been waiting so long for this, but he knew she was right. “Can you blame me for being curious?”

“You’ll have to stay that way,” she shot back. “Because I’m not telling.”

“Why not,” he asked, not angrily, but truly and genuinely curious. “Are you afraid we’ll get complacent? Trust me, I have never been complacent in my life. I just like to have all the facts available.”

“It’s not that,” she stood up, and started to pace in front of their table. “I could tell you what I know, although you wouldn’t be very pleased. I can give you a short summary, nothing about the battles, or who to trust and who to throw in jail.” As she continued to pace, he saw the tent open and Ynen peak in. Navis shook his head, and Ynen quietly slipped back out.

“I’m not worried about telling you what happens, I’m worried…” she trailed off, as if at loss for words. Then she turned to look at him. “What’s the palace going to be called?”

Navis blinked, confused by the change of subject. “You’re here working with the engineers, you probably know more than I do.”

“But if you had to guess? What name do you think Mitt’s leaning towards?”

Navis thought, and then said. “He’s mentioned something about Hern. Honor the North with Kernsburgh, honor the South with Hern’s Palace, or something like that.”

“See,” she said. “That’s it. When I’m from, it’s called Tannoreth Palace. It’s _always_ been called Tannoreth Palace.” Seeing that he didn’t follow, she continued, “I was talking to Moril about all his names, and he mentioned that _tan_ in the old language means ‘younger’. And it finally clicked – that palace was named after the younger Noreth. He named it -”

“He named it for you,” Navis finished.

“Why would Mitt name a palace after me if I were still around?” she asked and there was a touch of fear in her voice.

“Maybe it was…” Navis tried to counter, but for once he didn’t have anything. You name a building after someone to memorialize them when they’re gone, not for someone you see them several times a year. And never once had Mitt suggested it for the palace’s name.

“Don’t you see? I…I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.” Maewen said it in almost a whisper, and he realized this was the first time she had ever admitted it out loud. “I think I was meant to go back to my time, but something went wrong. And now I’m here and I’m changing everything.”

She looked on the brink of tears. This wasn’t what he had planned (although Hildy’s voice rang through his head, asking him what he expected). “You aren’t changing everything,” he assured her. But as he said it, he remembered how it ended with Eltruda. Would she have stayed, if Maewen hadn’t?

As if reading his mind, she said “Aren’t I? I think I invented strikes two years ago, and that was just after a few days on the Green Roads.” Maewen looked at him desperately. “I can’t tell you what I know, not because I’m afraid you’ll do what I say, but because I’m afraid I’ll change something. And if I change enough little things, it could ruin all of this.”

There was a part of him that wanted to treat her like anyone else useful to him, and talk her into pushing past her fears to tell him anyway. But there was another part that had grown to trust her over the years. Maewen was smart and capable, and if he wanted this to work, he needed to respect her wishes in the same way he did Mitt’s.

She had trusted him enough to tell him about the palace name. He could let the softer part of him win this time.

 “Alright,” he said. “I won’t ask you anything again.”

“Thank you,” she sighed and sat down onto the table. After a moment, she confided sadly “The most tiring part is that I don’t even remember enough history to know what I’m changing. I keep worrying that I’ve horribly offended someone who will turn out to be very important.”

“I doubt you’re offending people,” he said. “Not in any way that couldn’t be fixed.”

That made her smile. “Sounds like something my dad would have said,” she murmured and Navis froze. He imagined Hildy and Ynen getting through this without him, but they would at least have each other. Maewen was alone, and by all accounts managing brilliantly. Except on nights like this.

She had pushed herself off the table to leave, and he asked before he could stop himself “Do you miss them? Your family?”

(He was asking to find out if someone could tempt her, to know if she might suddenly leave. Not to assuage his own guilt.)

Maewen paused, and looked at the ground. He feared he’d made her cry again, but when she looked up her eyes were clear. “I can be here and miss them, or I can be in my time and miss this. I think I’m stuck either way.”

And then she slipped out of the tent before he could ask anything else.

* * *

 

**-3 Years A.K.-**

Navis had imagined what life would be like once the war was over. Stability, politics, investments. Settling down into a life for the first time in years.

He had not factored quite so many adolescents into that vision.

The ones in question were the King, his advisors, and several close allies, but they were young all the same, and _loud_.

It was a formal dinner in the main Hall that evening, part of a series of events to celebrate the opening of the palace (Hern’s Palace was the name Mitt settled on, and Maewen didn’t comment). The young ones were all crowded around one end of the table: Mitt, Maewen, Moril, some other singers Moril knew who had been spies during the war, Moril’s sister Brid and Kialan, Ynen and Alk’s engineers, Hildy and the daughter of the finance minister, whose name Navis could remember if they perhaps kept their voices down.

It made him feel old, which he supposed was slightly the point. This was a new generation of leaders, young and vibrant, a symbol of everything Dalemark could and would be.

As though to prove him right, the woman he was sitting next to said “They’re a rather fashionable group, aren’t they?” Her name was Tana, and she was the much more interesting wife of a very boring agriculture minister. She told Navis that she designed clothes in her spare time, and she was eying the group appreciatively. “I just designed a dress that would look amazing on your daughter.”

“I’ll introduce you later,” Navis said.

“Please also introduce me to the woman sitting next to the King,” Tana added, indicating Maewen. “She is the one involved in planning the city?” When Navis nodded, Tana smiled. “Good. I want to talk to her about buying land for a shop.”

Navis would be the first to admit that he knew very little about fashion, but he never remembered clothing shops in Holand. “Have you opened one before?”

She shrugged. “No, but I get bored designing for my friends in Dropwater. Here,” she swept her hand around the room, “Everything is changing here. And these people will need to look impressive.”

“I’m pleased to hear you say that,” he told Tana. He noticed out of the corner of his eye a messenger in palace livery entering the hall, headed towards the main table. Navis watched his path, mentally preparing for whatever news had come in, but the man went to Maewen instead. They conferred shortly, and then she got up and left. Navis watched Mitt watch her leave, and then fell back into conversation with Tana. It must have been something to do with Maewen’s work.

He wasn’t sure how long it was, maybe ten minutes, before another messenger came in, this time to speak with Mitt. Mitt stood up suddenly, caught Navis’s eye, and gestured for him to follow. Navis made his excuses to Tana and met Mitt in the hallway.

He looked agitated, and as soon as Navis appeared he started walking. The messenger was there too, and when Mitt stormed off he scrambled to get ahead. “What’s happened?” Navis asked as he caught up.

“He,” Mitt jerked his head toward the messenger, who was apparently leading them somewhere, “Told me that Maewen asked to see me in private. To discuss Hestefan.”

Whatever Navis had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Hestefan is dead.”

“And someone who tried to kill her twice before,” Mitt added.

 “So something’s wrong.”

“Very,” Mitt said grimly.

It didn’t take long to find out. They were being led into the other side of the palace, about as far away from the Hall as possible. “She’s in that last room,” the messenger said. Navis took a quick look at him – Wren, Robin, something like that, looked familiar enough that he must have been around the palace for a while, and clearly terrified – and judged him as not part of whatever was happening.

“Get the guards,” Navis told him, “Tell them to come, but quietly. We don’t want to start a commotion.” Wren/Robin nodded and scurried off.

Mitt had already gone down to the last door, and looked stricken. As Navis stepped closer, he realized why. The door was cracked open and Maewen’s voice was coming through, panicked and unceasing.

“I’m not her, I promise I’m not her. My name is Maewen Singer. My father isn’t the One, he’s a museum director, and my mother’s an artist. I have an aunt who owns a stable. I’m not Noreth. Killing me won’t do anything.”

Navis was going to suggest waiting for the guards, but as soon as they heard that, Mitt burst in.

It was an almost-familiar scene: Maewen was cornered against a wall, and there was a man holding a knife to her throat.

“Let her go!” Mitt roared, and the man turned around. It was the messenger from earlier, and he appeared to be delighted to see them.

“Your majesty!” He bowed deeply, and in doing so the knife slipped slightly, catching on Maewen’s throat. She squirmed, trying without success to move further away from it.

“Put the knife down,” Navis ordered in a level voice, knowing that someone in the room had to stay calm.

Unfortunately, Navis’s presence only delighted the man even more. “The Duke of Kernsburgh! It is an honor to meet you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Navis responded, but the comment was lost on the man.

“You need to let her go,” Mitt told him again in a voice filled with anger.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” the man said politely. His accent was clearly Southern; Andmark, maybe. “She must die.”

Navis thought Mitt might lunge for the man, but he seemed to understand that any sudden movements might hurt Maewen more than help her. They needed to stall for time until the guards came.

He looked at Maewen and mouthed to her “Guards coming.” She tried to nod but winced against the dagger. She looked terrified, but her eyes were clear.

The man threatening her was a different story. He was chatting with Mitt as casually as if they had met on the street, telling him what a wonderful king he was.

“Why do you need to kill her,” Navis interrupted. Maewen glared at him from behind the man’s back and he was sure that Mitt was doing the same. Reminding the assassin of his task might have been a risk, but Navis was gambling that the man would be delighted to tell them about his manifesto.

He was right; the man’s eyes lit up. “She is a danger to King Amil’s reign! The Northern earls have been conspiring to remove him and place Noreth on the throne. That is why she is here! She is their spy!”

The whole time he spoke (and he did go on in that vein for some time; it appeared that he hoped to be thanked with an ambassadorship) Mitt kept his eyes on Maewen. Navis didn’t know what passed between them, but when Mitt interrupted him, his voice was steady again. “What if I told you she’s important to me?"

The man faltered. “But how? She’s a traitor.”

Navis worried Mitt would make an emotional appeal. It was clear to everyone that he and Maewen cared for each other, but if Mitt said that, the man might think it was further proof of “Noreth’s” treachery.

So he was surprised when Mitt said “She has one of the master maps to Kernsburgh. I’ll need her to show it to me so I know she hasn’t tried to destroy it or send it to our enemies.” There was a clamor behind them; the guards had finally arrived. Mitt seized on their appearance and said “These guards will escort her there and then arrest her for treason.”

It was the most obvious ruse. And yet it worked. The man relented, and walked Maewen over to the waiting guards. The moment he let go of her, the guards sprang into action. Several knocked the man to the ground in order to restrain him. One guard lifted Maewen up to remove her from the melee.

“What are you doing?” The man cried. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“You’re under arrest for the attempted murder of a government official,” Mitt spat at him.

“But Noreth is trying-”

“She’s not Noreth, and she’s not going anywhere.” The guards hauled the man up so he was standing, although Mitt still towered over him. He looked so angry that Navis wouldn’t have been surprised (or blamed him) if Mitt struck the man, but he controlled himself. “Take him away.” Mitt instructed the guards. “Don’t start the interrogation until I get there.”

As soon as the guards were gone – the assassin loudly protesting that they were making a huge mistake – Mitt rushed over to Maewen. “Are you alright? Did he –”

“I’m fine,” she cut in, holding her hands up. “Just give me space, please.” Mitt backed off and Navis stayed by the door. Her breathing was shallow, and it took her more than a minute to even it out. Finally, she said “You’d think I’d be used to people trying to kill me by now.”

She burst into tears, and this time she didn’t try to stop Mitt when he moved to embrace her. Navis remembered finding them like this at Gardale, when it was time to steal the cup. Maewen was right that this was happening too often.

He stepped outside to give them their privacy and came face-to-face with Moril and Brid. “What happened?” Brid demanded.

“The messenger who came to get you and Mitt told us something happened with Maewen,” Moril explained. They were looking over Navis’s shoulder at Maewen and Mitt, who had pulled apart at the commotion.

“I’m okay,” Maewen called out shakily, which was apparently all the invitation Moril and Brid needed. They pushed past Navis and instantly began fussing over Maewen, Brid forcing her to sit down and Moril asking her if she needed any water, all the while Mitt hovered next to her.

Ynen and Kialan showed up shortly after, and soon the room was filled with chatter and laughter, everyone trying their hardest to cheer Maewen up. The results appeared to be mixed, but she kept a watery smile on her face as everyone buzzed around her.

Navis knew he should get Mitt so they could start the interrogation. But in his father’s court family had been of little importance, and friends even less so. This moment was important. Mitt needed to know that he had people he could rely on in times like this.

So Navis let them bring all of the noise and laughter from the Hall into that room, until one of the guards came and asked if the king would be coming soon. Mitt was seated close to Maewen, both of them laughing at a story that Kialan was telling. Navis caught his eye and motioned for him. Mitt reluctantly extricated himself from Maewen’s side, and as he did, Navis turned his focus to her.

“All right?” he mouthed. She shrugged in response. Given that it was her third assassination attempt, this was probably the best he could hope for.

In the hall, as the guard led them to where the assassin was being kept, Navis asked Mitt “So she’s important to you because of a map?”

“Thought he’d be more willing to let her go if he thought I was on his side,” Mitt said.

“That was smart.” Navis complimented.

“It was lucky,” Mitt said tiredly. “And maybe we’ll be lucky enough that this bloke was just ambitious and crazy and wasn’t talked into it by an earl.”

The guard stopped at an unmarked door and Mitt sighed. “I suppose I should take the lead, unless you want to?”

“No. I’m going to go back to the Hall. The guests will be wondering where everyone went to.” Navis told him and stopped Mitt as he started to protest. “You can handle this.”

“Right,” Mitt said, taking a deep breath. “You’re right.” He stood up a little straighter and Navis could see the transformation happen, from Mitt to Amil.

Navis returned to the Hall with a smile and a cover story, as if the past half hour had never happened.

* * *

 

**-Four Years A.K.-**

“Dropwater is late with their tax payment.”

Mitt looked up from the records he was poring over. “How late?”

They had regular meetings to discuss the earls. Since Navis’s role superseded theirs, he was given reports for each area that he summarized for Mitt’s review. Navis checked his documents “Seven days late.”

Mitt considered for a moment. “Dropwater’s been dealing with flooding. We’ll give them a grace period.”

Navis made a note of it, although he didn’t necessarily agree. Luthan had been supportive of them since the beginning, always supplied troops and money when asked, but sometimes he did not make it easy. Navis wouldn’t be surprised if Luthan was holding off on sending the money, just for his own personal satisfaction.

He wondered if this was one of Maewen’s little changes – was Luthan, like Eltruda, disturbed by Maewen’s presence? Or did Maewen not matter; Noreth was dead no matter what, and Navis couldn’t blame the man for not wanting to stay close with the last people who saw her alive.

Navis brushed the thought aside. “Last bit of business: Gardale’s agitating again.”

Mitt groaned. “About what?”

“Not enough Northern representation on your council.”

“Flaming Ammet, it’s completely equal!” Mitt seethed. “What more can I do?”

“Get rid of me, I suppose,” Navis suggested. “Although then you would have the Southern earls protesting that _they_ didn’t have enough representation.”

Mitt put his head in his hands. “It’s never going to stop, is it?”

Navis watched him to gauge his mood. He was frustrated but not angry; this was likely to be the best Navis would get for a while. He took a deep breath and said “There is an easy solution.”

“I abdicate in favor of the first person who walks by?”

“You could marry Maewen.”

Mitt’s head shot up. “Is that a joke? Because I was joking about abdicating.”

“It is not,” Navis answered. “Is it a horrible idea? You love her.” It wasn’t a question. Navis hadn’t seen the two of them _together_ , but it was clear all the same, even without Moril’s recent habit of teasing them by playing love songs whenever they came into a room together. It was the way each relaxed when the other was present – Mitt had the entire country on his shoulders and Maewen was still nervous when dealing with new people, but Navis had seen that melt away when they were around each other.

“That’s none of your business!” Mitt spluttered.

“Your marriage will have significant political ramifications; it is very much my business.” Navis corrected. “If you would prefer to marry someone else, there are several Northern noblewomen you could choose. I hear Alk’s daughters are lovely.”

Mitt made a face. “Shouldn’t Maewen be a part of this conversation?”

If he was trying to put it off, that wouldn’t work. “Go get her. I’ll wait.”

Mitt scowled at him. “You’ve been planning this, haven’t you? You probably have a whole speech prepared to give us.” Navis just raised an eyebrow and Mitt shook his head. But he did get up and leave, with an interesting combination of resolve and nausea playing out on his face.

Mitt was right that he had been planning on suggesting it; Hildy’s upcoming marriage had put the topic at the front of his mind. Her marriage to Lithar was happening, although not in the way that his father had planned. As soon as Hildy had been able, she undid the old marriage contract with Lithar and then drafted an entirely new one herself.

Hildy had sent him a draft to read – _not_ for his formal approval, she had stressed, but to see if she had left out any advantageous terms – and it was a good deal. Certainly a better one than his father had gotten and it brought the Holy Islands officially under their control, with Hildy as Warden.

It seemed odd in retrospect, but after they left Holand, Navis had always assumed that the marriage would never happen. And the last time Hildy came to visit Kernsburgh, he told her she didn’t have to marry Lithar if she didn’t want to. But Hildy insisted on seeing it through.

“I know I’ve always hated the idea of the marriage,” she told him, “But now that it’s on my terms, I think I have a duty to go out there and try, especially with Mitt naming me Warden.”

“You could come back here after the wedding,” Navis offered, but Hildy said no.

“They barely have any competent law women on the islands and I’ve got the opportunity to rebuild their systems. Anyway,” she added. “There’s not really a place for me here, besides being your daughter. But there I can be important in my own right.”

Hildy saw her marriage as a source of power, something Navis had managed to forget. Seeing how his father had abused it made Navis hesitant to control Mitt’s decisions in that area, but he would need to marry someone. If it was Maewen, then the marriage would be a political success and a happy relationship.

When the woman in question returned with Mitt, Navis was relieved to see that she did not appear ready to yell at him, like Hildy had when he had to tell her about her betrothal. She looked nervous, although slightly bemused, as if she didn’t believe what was happening. “Were you really planning on brokering my marriage without me?” she asked wryly as she sat down. Mitt took the seat next to her and glared at Navis, although he looked significantly less nervous than before.

“Of course not,” Navis assured her. “I wouldn’t presume to know what your answer would be.” Maewen rolled her eyes, but he wasn’t being sarcastic. Mitt’s emotions were easy to read, but Maewen was harder to judge; if she could get past her fear and confusion to fool them on the Green Roads, she could probably do the same with her feelings for Mitt if she thought it was for the best.

“What’s your argument for the marriage,” Mitt asked. “We know you have one.”

Navis guessed they both knew the arguments already, but he humored them. “Our biggest problem is that the North doesn’t believe they’re being represented, and the South is suspicious of Northern interlopers. Although you,” he pointed at Mitt “have been fair in how you’ve handled the North, the fact of the matter is, some people will resist accepting that. We also have the problem of Maewen,” he turned to face her, “Who looks exactly like the Northern woman who could have been queen and who they think can be gotten rid of.”

“Marriage is the best solution,” he continued. “Maewen has already done important work for the crown; her elevation to queen will carry that work forward, and will allow the North to think that you’re listening to her-”

“I do listen to her,” Mitt interjected.

“And perhaps if people in the South see that you are actually fond of her, they’ll stop trying to kill her.” Navis finished. Maewen made a face, and he felt bad for reminding her of it, but it was an important point to consider. The marriage wouldn’t make her totally untouchable, but it would certainly cut down on the number of people who might try.

“And you think this will solve everything?” Mitt asked.

“Of course not,” Navis answered. “But a symbolic and literal union of the North and South can go a long way. We need to show the country that it is no longer two halves but a whole.”

“May I offer a counterpoint?” Maewen asked.

“Please.”

“I don’t remember everything about this era, but I think I would remember if I had the same name as the first queen of modern Dalemark,” she told them. “With most of the decisions I’ve made, I haven’t known if I’m interfering with history. But if I say yes, then I know for sure I am.”

“I considered that,” Navis responded. He actually had; it was not lost on him that this was a major violation of Maewen’s desire not to change history. “Do you remember what that first queen’s name was?” She shook her head no. “What if you weren’t Queen Maewen but Queen Manaliabrid?”

“I thought I was done pretending to be another person,” Maewen said, some ice in her voice.

“Not pretending,” Navis assured her. “Just a name change. Like Mitt and Amil. The name would only matter to the rest of the country. ”

Mitt and Maewen looked at each other, realization dawning on both their faces. “You want us to be the Adon and Manaliabrid, don’t you?” Mitt asked.

“Why not? People still like the old stories, even if they think it’s just a myth.”

“We would be stepping on Kialan and Brid’s toes,” Mitt pointed out

“I’m sorry,” Navis drawled, “I didn’t realize we were ceding symbolic power to Hannart. I’m sure Keril will be delighted.”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” Mitt said, irritation rising in his voice. “Kialan risked a lot to support us. I’m not going to thank him for that by -”

“Moril could smooth it over with Brid and Kialan,” Maewen broke in, “if I did change my name. Do you think it’s that important?”

“Would you do it?” Navis asked. Mitt was looking at her curiously, surprised that she might agree.

“I’m not doing anything,” she clarified. “But I want to know your reasoning.” Navis was surprised to find himself feeling proud. It was what he would have asked in her position.  

“Everything we can do to show this is a stable monarchy is critical,” Navis said. “The symbolic carries a lot of weight here and the Adon is still important. If we can reinforce that image with your marriage, it could take us far.”

“It all fell apart again, after the Adon died.” Mitt pointed out quietly. It was a fair point and what they worried about most; what if they couldn’t keep the country together?

“Yes, but you won’t let that happen,” Navis said calmly. “Neither of you. Give them the old story, and then improve on it.”

Everyone went quiet. Mitt looked exhausted and he reached across to take Maewen’s hand. She twined her fingers with his, looking pensive. “We’ll need a few days to think about it,” she told Navis, and Mitt nodded in agreement.

“Of course,” Navis allowed. “This doesn’t have to happen tomorrow. Or even this year. And while you’re thinking, please consider that you becoming queen might not change anything at all. Like you said, you can’t remember who the queen was. It might have always been you.” Before she could argue, he added. “I would prefer it to be you.”

“Me too,” Mitt said softly. She turned to look at him and smiled, shy but still genuine. It was one of those smiles that made Navis feel like they had forgotten he was there.

Navis supposed this was a sign he should leave. “Whatever decision you make, I’ll respect it,” he told them, getting up from his desk. “You know what my vote is.”

As Navis walked out, he turned back to look at them before leaving. Maewen and Mitt were still holding hands; he said something softly that made her laugh, the noise carrying into the hall as Navis closed the door.

He definitely had a marriage. It could be a disaster and create new problems. He could be right and it would fix everything in one fell swoop.

Navis wasn’t worried. His leaps of faith had worked well in the past. And luckily, he had quite a lot of faith in himself.  


End file.
